September Song
by nicky69
Summary: Early morning musings, unmitigated fluff. AN: this fic features a mm slash relationship, if that offends please walk away now. Betaed by the very lovely elmyraemilie. Any mistakes that you find are my own. Disclaimer, I DON'T own CSI, CBS does.


**September Song**

Damn, when did he get so old? That was the question on Gil Grissom's mind as he struggled to drag his tired and aching body out of bed. 'Just five more minutes', he murmured, as he allowed himself to fall back into the bed. His left hand snaked out to hit the snooze button on his alarm clock. Yes, just five more minutes.

Laying there in the still warm embrace of soft rumpled sheets and a haze of drowsy contentment, Gil wondered when his life had taken the turn that brought him to this place. Had he made a conscious decision to walk this road, or had fate played a bigger role than he was willing to acknowledge? How was it that at 50 years of age he was still butting heads with incompetent politicians and money pinching bureaucrats with their eyes not on justice but the bottom line?

Sure he loved his job, but the daily grind of officialdom was wearing him down and the offers to teach or hit the lecture circuit were beginning to look more and more attractive. Still, something, or more precisely someone, kept him here in Vegas.

In truth, Gil was surprised by the reluctance he felt at the thought of leaving his home. Before he had always viewed where he was living simply as a place convenient to his work, a kind of way station until something better or more interesting came along. When had that changed? When had his house become a home?

Perhaps it was round about the time that he first realised how much his team cared for him, when they mounted their own impromptu and unofficial visit during the Strip Strangler case. Their actions showed him what words could not express. Or maybe it happened when Catherine stepped into a cold and impersonal hospital room, offering support unconditionally, asking nothing of him in return.

More likely, the change had come about in a hundred different ways. Trading snarky comments with Jim or Doc Robbins in a comfortable camaraderie that hitherto had been unknown to him. Rolling his eyes heavenwards at Greg's latest on-the-job escapades, all the while trying to retain a grim and serious façade. Watching with pride as day by day, case by case, his students became his equals, his subordinates became his friends.

It could have been any of those times, but it wasn't. If he was honest he could state the time, the second that the change took place.

Crouched on his knees in a hole in the ground, exhausted and terrified, he found his home. Surrounded by countless strangers and precious friends, the vivid air tinged with desperation and fear. Yet in the simple words, 'I promise', and all that they expressed, he found his true home.

Later he would have time to analyze and second guess, time to regret and lament, but not then.

The insistent buzzing of his alarm clock shook him from his introspection and he managed to lever himself upright, still groaning as muscles ached and protested the movement. With an indulgent sigh he reached out his right hand, nudging the architect of his discomfort into a state of semi-consciousness.

"Nicky? Nick! Up and at 'em buddy. It's your turn to make breakfast and I'm in the mood for eggs." Gil wasn't averse to a little teasing. After all, it was Nick's fault that he was aching all over. Then again, Gil thought, a sly grin spreading over his face, he wouldn't be the only one feeling the effects of their lovemaking. Well, Nick had always said that Gil was a pain in his ass, and now it was quite literally true.

"Mmmm, wha…" Sleepy brown eyes tried unsuccessfully to focus on Gil, and Nick's stubbled face was a picture of innocent drowsiness and pleading.

"Just five more minutes, Gil. Give me five more minutes." Then like a debauched angel, Nick snuggled once more into his warm pillow.

"OK, baby. Five more minutes," Gil said, a tender smile lighting his face. He never could deny Nick anything. Time, he had come to realize, was too short for that, life too unpredictable. He grasped happiness and joy when they came within his reach and Nick's happiness was his ultimate joy.

With a reluctant grunt he hauled himself out of their bed and headed to the shower. At the doorway he paused, turning to peer into the gloom of the shuttered room. Nick slept on, unaware of his lover's scrutiny. The only sounds were Gil's steady breathing and Nick's gentle snores, but Gil imagined that if he tried hard enough he would hear their hearts beating in tandem. Suddenly he didn't feel so old after all.

For the days dwindle down

_But it's a long, long while_

_From May 'till December_

_When the autumn weather_

_Turns the leaves to flame_

_For the days dwindle down_

_To a precious few_

_September, November,_

_And these few precious days_

_I'll spend with you_

_These precious days_

_I'll spend with you_

_September song by __**Maxwell Anderson/Kurt Weill**_


End file.
